The Defective Tournament
by penguins and snails
Summary: Inspired by the Hunger Games. 16 of Irk's Defective Prisons offer up one Irken or SIR unit to compete in the Defective Tournament, a four-round televised fight to the death. For the 5th annual Tournament, ex-Invader Zim volunteers for Gir after the little robot Zim grew to care for is chosen to compete. Now Zim has to fight for his life. OCs no longer needed. AU. UPDATED!
1. Welcome to Prison 15

**The Defective Tournament**

_Chapter 1_

"Master, could you tell me that story again?"

There was a slightly aggravated and exhausted sigh in response. "Which one are you speaking of?"

"The one with the guy made of cheese," the little robot chirped, watching his Master through the dim light in their cell, his big cyan blue eyes glowing with curiosity.

Normally Zim would tell his little robot companion, Gir, to just go to sleep, for the hard labor that Defective Prisons forced each Irken to endure on a daily-basis made him sore and tired when he was lead back to his cell. But because they would face great uncertainty tomorrow, he complied. "Ah yes... That one." Zim sat up from his spot against the wall to face Gir, who noticeably lit up, knowing his favorite story would be told tonight.

"Do you still remember that one, Master?"

"How could I forget?" He cleared his dry, hoarse throat, and began, "Well... There once was a man-"

"Made of cheese!" Gir giggled.

"Correct." Zim nodded once. "Made of melted, stinky cheese..." As he went into the story, he couldn't help but being mentally relieved that Gir was being himself again. Usually around this time of year, even in the weeks upcoming to what would be tomorrow, the fear would creep up on the little robot who, though outrageous and dim-witted, knew what happened every year for the past five years on that one day. Even Gir could understand the dire state that everyone in their Prison was in. He had every reason to be afraid. One of them would be chosen tomorrow, taken away to the capitol of Irk... And no one really knew if that one Irken or SIR unit chosen would come back or not. It depended on how well they could fight, how well they could survive.

For the past five years it usually went this way for the two. In the weeks before, Zim would notice a drastic change in Gir's extreme personality. The little robot would go from giggling and singing randomly, to slowly slipping away, going silent, isolating himself. This only happened in the weeks before one Irken or SIR unit in each of Irk's sixteen Defective Prisons was chosen at random to compete in the annual Defective Tournament. Once Zim and Gir were safe, Gir would go back to his normal self in no time. But it was a relief for Zim to see his companion already going back to his normal, goofy self. Seeing Gir's eyes light up with happiness over a simple, random story during a time of uncertainty made Zim feel better. Because maybe, just maybe, it meant that they'd both be safe this year. Just like the years before. Nothing to worry about. After tomorrow, the Choosing Day, they would no longer have their name entered as a possible contender. You had to have lived in the Prisons for ten years in order to be safe from the Tournament. The ones who were usually entered as possible contenders were the smeets and Irkens and SIR units who were taken to the Prisons later in their lives. Like Zim and Gir. They had been there for nine years. Once they were safe at this year's Choosing Day, they would no longer have to worry about being chosen. This was their last year of having to worry.

Without even realizing it, Zim went on with the story, knowing almost every exact detail. After all, it was Gir's favorite story. Sometimes Zim would add an extra detail or change one, though Gir never noticed or seemed to care.

Zim smiled slightly. Though he wouldn't exactly admit it, seeing Gir happy made Zim happy. He had been taking care of the little robot for many, many years before they were sent to Prison 15 together. That was nine years ago. Only five years ago during their fourth year in Prison 15 did the Tallest start the Defective Tournament as a sick form of entertainment for Irk and it's 'normal' citizens. Out of everyone, Zim hated the Tournament most. And he was prepared every year if he were chosen, but he never realized that he would never be ready if Gir were ever chosen. He didn't know how he'd handle it. Taking care of Gir was the equivalent of taking care of a smeet; they needed attention and care, and though Zim didn't show it or admit it, he did care for Gir. He was like a little brother to him. And if Gir were chosen... It was like sending a smeet to it's death. Which has happened before, much to Zim's disgust.

Half-way through the story, Zim stopped when he noticed Gir lying curled up in a ball on the floor, sleeping soundly, with his thumb in his mouth. Zim suddenly remembered that Gir only slept that way once a year for the past five years, on the night before one unlucky soul would be chosen for the Defective Tournament. It meant that, subconsciously, Gir was worried and frightened. That maybe another nightmare would come to him in his dreams again, just like they did every year for the past five years.

Leaning back against the wall, his usual sleeping spot, Zim sighed as he watched Gir sleep. "We'll be okay..." he promised quietly, hoping Gir could hear him in his sleep. "This is our last year. We'll be safe." With that said, Zim closed his own eyes.

The exhaustion from the day's hard work quickly pulled Zim into the darkness of sleep, and unknowingly to him, as he drifted away, someone or something deep within his mind told him that tomorrow would change his life forever. It warned him that no one was really safe from being chosen. It all depended on how lucky you were.

He wouldn't remember the dire warning in morning.

* * *

The only upside of Choosing Day, was that instead of having to wake up extra early to go to work as usual, everyone in the Prisons had the day off... At least until the Choosing Day ceremony was over, when one unlucky soul was lead away. Then the rest of their lives would go back to normal, back to their regular job hours.

The sound of a tray clanking against the ground awoke Zim. He blinked his tired eyes, awaking to the blinding rays of light that slipped through the only window in the cell. He moved his eyes toward the cell door and noticed the usual morning breakfast: two pieces of bread and a bowl of cold stew. Not much, as usual. It was the daily meal they gave out for breakfast every morning. He heard the footsteps disappearing down the hall; the sounds of the guard who handed out the breakfast trays to each cell, leaving to hand out the rest to the other cells in the other halls.

Sighing, Zim rubbed his eyes and crawled over to the tray. He grabbed the bowl of cold stew and made his way over to Gir, who was still sleeping soundly. Zim was relieved the little robot didn't have any nightmares last night. Normally he always had nightmares in the weeks before Choosing Day. Especially the night before. This was a good sign, Zim was sure of it.

He made his way over to the sleeping metallic form. "Gir?" He nudged him. Gir stirred but didn't awake. Zim began shaking him gently. "Gir? Wake up. Breakfast is here."

That one word woke him up immediately. Yawning, Gir sat up, rubbing his cyan blue eyes. When he noticed Zim holding up the bowl of cold stew, Gir grinned widely. "Gimme!" He snatched it from him and began slurping the stew down, not even bothering to use the spoon.

Zim watched him, squeedly-spooch churning. He never liked the cold stew and especially never ate it. He usually gave it to Gir who could usually stomach just about anything. Zim usually ate the two pieces of bread as his breakfast, though it wasn't enough to keep his squeedly-spooch satisfied in the morning. But he managed.

"Eat slowly," he chided the robot lightly, as a parent would with a child.

"Okie dokie." The little robot nodded, slurping the stew down as slowly as he possibly could.

Zim watched him momentarily before turning back to the tray. He picked up the first piece of bread and began to eat, chewing carefully. If he ate to fast with a nearly empty squeedly-spooch, he'd grow sick. And that especially wouldn't help when, after the Choosing was over, he'd have to go back to work. Working with nausea was just as bad as working with an empty squeedly-spooch. Both were miserable and caused pains in his bones and squeedly-spooch.

"Hey, Zim!"

Half-way through taking small nibbles of bread, Zim glanced up at the cell door, past the metal bars and out across the hall toward the other cell, where Zim's only other friend in the Prison, Skoodge, called home.

And there Skoodge was, pressed up against his cell door, gripping one of the cold metal bars as he looked out toward Zim's cell. Though it was Choosing Day, Skoodge still had his usual happy-go-lucky smile plastered on his face.

Zim smiled back, though a bit weakly. "Hey, Skoodge... Are you ready for today?"

"Defiantly!" Skoodge exclaimed, somewhat happily. "One more year and I won't have to worry about being picked. I'm not even worried today. I feel pretty confident that I won't be chosen."

"Same here," Zim replied, nodding once. "Gir didn't have any nightmares last night, so I think that might be a sign."

"I'm pretty sure it is," his friend reassured him. "We'll all be in the clear, I'm sure. This is your last year and Gir's last year. That has to be a sign in itself."

"I sure hope so." Zim glanced up at the single window in his cell, seeing the light beaming through. "How long have we been asleep?"

"Not sure," Skoodge admitted. "I heard them getting everything ready outside. I think they might be nearly done."

Beside Zim, Gir slammed the now-empty bowl down. "Speaking of done: I'm done!" Gir crawled over to the cell door, waving at the rounded Irken. "Hi fat head!"

Skoodge's expression deflated. "Fat head?" He eyed Zim suspiciously. "Where did he hear that nickname?"

Zim only chuckled nervously. "Well..."

Just then, a beeping sound rang out throughout the hall, and the cell doors popped open. Zim and Skoodge jumped, startled by the sudden sound that echoed throughout the hallway, while Gir only stiffened at the sound.

It was time.

A few guards came into their hallway, leading the few Irkens and SIR units in the other cells surrounding Zim and Skoodge out of the somewhat safety of their cells, down the hall and out another door. Zim and Skoodge eyed each other, and the worry that they wouldn't admit or tried to cover up with optimism was present strongly in their eyes.

An Irken guard came to Skoodge's cell, grabbing him by the arm and leading him away from Zim and Gir, down the other end of the hall. "I'll see you later," he said quietly as he disappeared through down the hall. Zim watched him go, feeling dread form in his squeedly spooch, but pushed it down. Now was defiantly not the time to worry and think negative. He tried to keep his hopes up that he and Gir would be fine.

Another guard appeared in the doorway of Zim's cell. Zim stepped forward immediately, not wanting to be grabbed at. He started to head out, but noticed the guard still staring out into his cell.

He turned and noticed Gir standing behind him, completely still, not moving forward to follow his Master. His eyes were wide and filled with fear. Something didn't feel right to the little SIR unit. It felt different than the other years before. Something felt wrong, as though something might happen.

Zim quickly made his way over to the robot, not wanting him to be dragged out of his cell like some other Irkens had been in the past. The punishment for not following orders, even simply not following a guard when immediately ordered, resulted in a serve punishment that would be to much for Gir to handle. Zim didn't want Gir to be punished or afraid.

"Gir," he said quietly, "It's time."

Gir said nothing but nodded, taking small, hesitant steps out of the cell, with Zim carefully ushering him forward from behind. Gir stayed close to his Master as they were lead down the hall to a large open door that lead into another long hallway filled with other cells and other Irkens and SIRs, who each came out one by one, followed by a guard who lead them all down the same route.

He clung to Zim as he watched the Irkens with pale, frightened or empty expressions beside him, some with their SIR units who didn't seem as terrified as their Masters.

Those Irkens in the Prisons who had their own SIRs, like Zim, were once Invaders or once trained to be an Invader before the special Defect exam was issued by the Tallest to check for a glitch or defect in their Paks, one that might have been overlooked or not noticed when they were first born in the Hatcheries. Those Irkens, like Zim, were immediately taken from their homes, most with force and violence, and thrown into prison. Luckily they were at least able to keep their SIRs, though all of them had their weapons disabled for good. It kept their sanity in such cruelty to have a friend there, and that friend was usually their loyal SIRs who stayed with them until the end.

This was the case with Zim and Gir.

They knew each other for nearly fifteen years; their first five years as Master and SIR were spent in freedom, before they were whisked away after multiple glitches in Zim's Pak was found during the special Defect Exam. That was how they ended up in Prison 15; based on whatever level of how Defected you were, you'd be sent to whatever Prison seemed suitable out of the 16. Prisons 15 and 16 were the harshest and cruelest out of all 16 Prisons. That was why Zim and Gir were sent there; because Prisons 15 and 16 were for Irkens who had the most glitches in their Paks. They were treated the worst by the guards. It was cruel and unfair, and Zim knew this well, while Gir still didn't understand.

More and more Irkens and SIR units came out into the line as they were all lead closer and closer toward the outside. Some stayed close with their cellmates, visibly terrified, while others seemed sullen and silent, others expressionless. Seeing all these frightened, upset faces worried Gir more, further adding fuel to the fire that was his fear. All Gir really knew, was Choosing Day was a horrible day, that the need to worry was there. The dire state that everyone was in only told more to the story than Gir could understand. He only knew that it was bad if he or his Master were called out during the ceremony. But so far, they had been okay. Every year they weren't called. This year should be the same right?

But fate was a fickle thing, and so was luck.

They met the blinding light of Irk's sun as they were finally all lead out into the courtyard of Prison 15. There, as many Irkens and SIRs came pouring out from different ends of the Prison and into the courtyard, the stage was set, nestled in front of the Prison, like it was every year for the past four, now five years.

Guards were armed with weapons on the roofs of the Prison, or positioned around the ropes that marked where each Irken and SIR was supposed to stand and wait. And as usual, there were also cameramen. On the roofs beside the guards, on the side of the stage to tape the reaction of the crowd when someone was picked. Everything would be broadcasted live to all of Irk.

And there, just above the stage, was the large, infamous screen, where, when the name was picked randomly from a tiny hand-held computer, it would be projected on screen in front of everyone before being called out.

Zim lead Gir toward the large, lined up crowd, pushing past guards and other Irkens as he did so. Gir stayed close, clinging to Zim like a lifeline. And when his cyan blue eyes met the large, white screen above the stage, where in just a few minuets one unlucky person's name would flash across it, Gir froze, letting his hold on Zim slip slightly. He started to whimper, and Zim heard this sound far above the sound of heavy feet shuffling forward toward the center of the crowd, which was split in two, separated by the ropes.

Other Irkens and SIRs bumped into Gir as he stood there, staring out at the screen with wide, terrified eyes. Something defiantly did not feel right. Not today. It wasn't like before where he was reassured by Zim's promise that they'd both be alight. This was different.

Zim grabbed a hold of Gir and carefully lead him to the side, away from the lines that continued pouring into the courtyard. He kneeled before the trembling little robot. "Gir?" Zim tried to pull Gir's attention away from the screen. "Gir, look at me." Gir refused to rip his eyes away from the screen, but after a moment, he finally looked at his Master with eyes that were filled with fear. "Gir, it's okay." Zim tried to smile reassuringly at him, but he hated that he had to lie to him, as though everything would be okay. Really, he had no idea if everything would be okay. There was to much uncertainty to be exactly sure. "We've been through this before, and every year we end up okay. This our last year, just remember that. After today, we won't ever have to worry again." Zim glanced over his shoulder to make sure no guards were coming his way. When he noticed only Irkens and SIRs still walking out of the Prison and out toward the crowd forming in front of the stage, he turned his attention back to Gir, who seemed ready to burst into tears. "Just remember this is our last year. Can you do that for me?"

Sniffling, Gir nodded. He wanted to obey, to make his Master happy.

It made him feel a bit better when Zim smiled at him. "Good." He patted him lightly on the head.

"Hey!"

Zim turned just in time to see a guard heading his way. "Get back in line!" the guard barked, roughly grabbing Zim just as he stood up, leading him away from Gir. "I'll meet you afterwards, okay?" he called out as he was dragged away. "Be brave!"

Gir nodded once, before he quickly headed back in the separate line where the other SIR units were filing into, heading toward the front of the stage where the SIRs took their place.

After being dragged into the crowd, he was pushed into another Irken by the guard who brought him there. The guard left, not saying another word. Mumbling angrily, Zim dusted himself off. He hated being grabbed by the guards. He hated being treated like trash. He hated everything about the Prison. It was so unfair, all of this. Feeling his blood boil, Zim closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides until the anger subsided. He knew if he became furious he might start protesting there, in front of everyone. That would probably result in an execution, and he knew Gir needed him. So he reminded himself this, and it calmed him down quickly.

"Zim!"

Skoodge. Zim glanced around the other large crowd of Irkens in which he was in the middle of, searching with his eyes for his other friend.

"Over here!"

After scanning the crowd for another moment, he spotted Skoodge waving at him from a few rows behind him. Not caring if the guards saw him, Zim pushed his way toward the back of the crowd to where Skoodge was eagerly waiting for him.

Upon seeing his friend up close, Skoodge noticed the look of rage in Zim's eyes as he took a spot beside him. "What happened to you? You seem mad."

"Some guard grabbed me," Zim said, staring at the stage from where he stood. There was a single chair in the corner, and Zim had a feeling of who would be sitting there. He truly hoped so. He suddenly grew anxious, waiting for the figure to step out and take a seat in the chair.

Skoodge said nothing, not wanting to bring up the incident to further enrage his friend. They stood in silence, just like the other Irkens around them. There was nothing to talk about in such a fearful environment. The only sound audible was the sound of the last remaining Irkens and SIRs being lead into the crowd.

After a few minuets of silence, a figure walked out onto the stage. It was Prison 15's warden, Vinam, a tall Irken with bright red eyes that appeared eerily similar to the eyes of Tallest Red. He wore the usual uniform that all 16 of Irk's Prison's Wardens wore, except his uniform color matched his eye color and had a badge over his heart that read _'15'_.

Vinam, standing tall and proud, made his way to the microphone that stood in the center of the stage. Just then, another figure appeared on stage, walking with small, slow steps, facing down at the floor as she did so.

Zim felt relieved the see the familiar female figure who wore a dark purple Irken uniform. One to match her eyes. Zim watched her, not paying attention to anyone else but her. This female was the winner of last year's Tournament. Tak. He hadn't seen her ever since her name was chosen the year before. And she won, outsmarting the other contenders. Using her skills in each battle, each round. She used to be his other cellmate, along with her SIR unit, Mimi. He hoped that the Tournament didn't change her. His heart seemed to beat a little bit faster at even just the sight of her. She took a seat in that chair he had noticed earlier. Once Vinam began to speak, Zim ripped his attention away from Tak and turned to face Vinam, anxiously waiting for it to be over.

"Defects of Prison 15, welcome to introduction of the fifth annual Defective Tournament," Vinam greeted, staring out into the sea of worried, anxious and blank faces. He smiled. "As you all know, today, one of you will be chosen to represent Prison 15 in this year's Tournament. This Tournament was created five years ago to remind you all of your place in society. And if we are lucky, hopefully one brave and courageous soul chosen today will win the Tournament for Prison 15, just like last years winner, Tak." He turned, giving a small smile toward the Irken female sitting in the chair behind him. She stared up at him, not returning what she knew was a fake smile.

Grinning, Vinam turned his attention back toward the crowd. "Right. Now, let's get on with it and see who will be fighting for Prison 15 this year." He turned his head toward the opposite aids of the stage, just as a guard appeared, walking toward Vinam with a small, hand-held computer device. The guard handed it to Vinam before standing back. Vinam turned back toward the crowd, device in hand. He glanced down at the device and, from what Zim could see, began typing in something.

Zim held his breath, praying that he wouldn't be chosen. This was his last year. After today he no longer had to worry about the Tournament ever again. He turned his eyes to the large white screen, waiting anxiously.

"And the prisoner who will represent Prison 15 is..." Vinam waited for a second, until the name appeared on the device in his hands.

The name immediately appeared on screen, projected out toward the crowd in bold black letters, just as Vinam announced the name aloud. Tak's eyes widened at the name. Skoodge let out a gasp, turning to face the frozen Irken beside him.

Zim only stared forward, eyes widened, fists clenched at his sides. He began shaking as the words on the screen seemed to scream at him. The name, that three-letter name Vinam called out repeated over and over again, as Irk itself seemed to stop turning. The reality began to sink in as Zim continued staring at the screen, horrified. That name on the screen made his blood run cold.

_No... NO..._

It was Gir's name.

* * *

**A/N: THIS IS AU AND DOES NOT IN ANY WAY FIT INTO THE STORYLINE OF THE INVADER ZIM SHOW OR ANY OF MY INVADER ZIM STORIES!**

_**IMPORTANT: If you have a character for the story, review and leave your character's name/bio/info in your review! Also add their fighting style/technique! Only 15 spots available!**_

**Anyway, I hope you liked this! If you need a complete overview of the plot, here it is:**

**Zim and Gir are living in one of the Defective Prisons, Prison 15. Gir is essentially like a little brother to Zim, and is still the same, wacky, cute and lovable Gir we all know and love. So their relationship is brotherly. :')**

**This will probably be a ZATR story, but not a major one, and where Tak fits into all this, is that she lived in the same prison that Zim and Gir live in, and she won the Tournament the year before and becomes Zim's mentor. Again, this is AU, so Zim never ruined Tak's mission or ruined her chances of being am Invader: They're both defects in this story. I didn't want it to be the star-crossed lovers scenario like with Peeta and Katniss, so instead it's just Zim competing in the tournament, and Tak is his mentor.**

**The Defective Tournament is MUCH different than the Hunger Games. Instead of all the contenders being thrown all at once into an arena, there are four rounds. Each of the sixteen contenders are paired up with one other, and they each fight in separate arenas. Whoever wins each battle, fights another winner in the second round and so on and so fourth... Much more different than the Hunger Games. Oh, and, instead of the ages twelve-through-eighteen rule like in the Hunger Games, in this story, in order to no longer be entered into the Tournament, you had to be living in the prison for at least ten years or more.**

**Like I said before in my other story: I'm looking for fifteen OCs from anyone who has one and wants one to compete. Just be warned, you're character will die. But still, I'll post the rules separately and have anyone post info/bio about their OC. They have to be either an Irken or a SIR unit. You only get to choose one of your OCs, and there'll be only fifteen spots available. please don't be mad when your character dies. I warned you all ahead of time.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this, and please, please review! I'd really appreciate it!**


	2. I Volunteer

_Chapter 2_

For a second, Zim nearly stopped breathing, even to the point of hopeless distraction by all the emotions running through him that he nearly forgot how to breathe. His heart was pounding so quickly, so loudly, that it was the only sound he heard among the deafening silence.

All the other Irkens surrounding him turned to face him, watching his reaction. Because they knew that the little SIR unit just called was very much cared for by Zim. It had always been that way, and they knew this from quiet observation. From their point of view, Zim's expression was blank and unreadable. But they couldn't see nor hear the utter chaos going on in his mind.

Gir's name stayed on screen. Zim's vision suddenly blurred, and without knowing it, he began to tip to the side, losing balance. Skoodge caught him, grabbing a hold of his arm and calling his name over and over, but Zim didn't hear him. His muscles felt to stiff to stand straight and his squeedly-spooch churned with nausea as he thought of Gir being sent to fight to the death for the entertainment of the cruel Tallest, and of the heartless _'regular'_ Irkens who would take turns placing their bets on Gir's life. The very thought nearly brought his breakfast up his throat, threatening to make a reappearance. He wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but the shock kept Zim from brining words to his lips.

It wasn't until Zim spotted, through the crowd, the small form of Gir being lead toward the stage by four guards, that Zim came back to the harsh reality of it all. Seeing Gir noticeably frightened, hands at his sides as he took small, hesitant steps toward the stage, reminded Zim that this was all to real. And he knew what he had to do.

He regained control of his muscles as he rushed forward, pushing through the crowd toward the small, hopeless figure of his robot companion. It dawned on him then that his promise to Gir was broken. He had promised him for all these years that they'd be safe, that he would be safe from all of this. And yet there was Gir's name up on the screen, as a reminder of a broken promise.

He broke through the crowd, stumbling out into the clearing between the two ropes that separated the crowd. And there Gir was, still within reach. Zim called his name in a desperate yell, "Gir!"

Startled by the sudden sound of his Master's voice, Gir turned immediately, seeing his Master heading toward him. What was he doing?

Zim rushed forward toward Gir, forgetting the numerous guards that surrounded the crowd, spread out among the courtyard. "Gir!" he called out again, just as two guards stepped forward, grabbing Zim before he could get to Gir. Something inside Zim snapped at that very moment. "No! Gir!" he struggled in their grasp as they threatened to drag him back into the crowd. "GIR!"

Vinam was quite amused by the chaotic scene before him. But it _was_ expected. "Do you wish to take this robot's place?" he asked, expecting the Irken to shrink back and disappear back into the crowd at the thought of going to the Defective Tournament.

But Zim continued to struggle in the grasp of the two guards. "Yes! I volunteer!" Still, the guards didn't let him go. "I volunteer!"

Gir watched his Master struggling to reach him, yelling out that he would volunteer for him. His eyes widened and he himself shrank back. He didn't want his Master to go to the Tournament. He'd rather go than have his Master leave him and possibly never come back.

"Hmmm..." Vinam thought for a moment as he watched the Irken continue to struggle against the two guards. This was a very big surprise indeed. Never before did someone volunteer for someone else, especially not for a meek SIR unit. "You may let him go," he told them. "If he wishes to take the robot's place."

The two guards complied after a moment of hesitation, moving to the side, allowing Zim to run over to Gir. He didn't hesitate to take the robot in his arms, engulfing him in a gentle but firm embrace.

Gir was surprised. His Master rarely hugged him. Still utterly confused and terrified, he hugged his Master back. He enjoyed the affection, and especially needed it now in such a time of confusion and crisis.

Zim didn't care that every Irken and SIR around him was watching this, nor did he care that this was being broadcasted live to all of Irk. All that mattered to him now was the fact that Gir was safe, for good, from the Tournament. He had nearly lost the little robot he had grown to love like a little brother. An obnoxious, sometimes annoying little brother who sometimes got on Zim's nerves, but really, Zim wouldn't have him any other way.

After a moment, Zim pulled back, placing Gir back on the ground, kneeling before him so he could speak to him. To tell him what was happening because it was clear that the little robot had no idea what was going on. "Gir, listen to me. I need you to go back in line, okay? You need to get out of here."

That was when the realization finally hit Gir like a ton of bricks. His Master was leaving. His Master was going to the Tournament. He may not come back, he realized, as tears filled his cyan blue eyes at the thought. "No!" Gir yelled, not moving an inch.

Zim was taken aback. Normally Gir listened to an order and obeyed. "Gir, please-"

"No!" His cries became more shrill and desperate, not wanting Zim to go.

"Gir-"

"NO!"

There was only one way to get Gir to listen, and quite frankly, Zim was losing patience very quickly. "GIR, AS YOUR MASTER I COMMAND YOU TO GET BACK IN LINE!"

It didn't work, and from where Skoodge stood, he could see that. He broke free from the crowd and made his way over to the Irken and the sobbing SIR unit.

Gir clung to Zim, crying, begging him not to go.

Zim swallowed a lump quickly forming in his throat. "Please, Gir," he said quietly. "Just go..."

Luckily Skoodge came up and ripped the SIR unit away from Zim. Gir lost it then, screaming, crying and thrashing around in Skoodge's arms as he was lead away from his beloved Master. "No! NO!"

Zim watched him go, feeling all sadness and anger fading from him. Gir's screams faded as Skoodge took him further and further into the crowd. Zim couldn't feel anything, though the pain in his chest was to much to bare. He stood up and and began to numbly walk toward the stage, with four guards surrounding him.

"Well, this is a very nice surprise," Vinam said, smiling. "Prison 15 has it's first volunteer!"

Tak watched Zim with sympathetic eyes. She would have done the same thing for Mimi. She suddenly admired Zim more than she ever had before. It was very brave, what he did, and she knew that. She could only imagine what he was feeling, because she had felt the same way exactly a year before. Numb. But in Zim's case, he was numb, yes, but also relieved. Relieved that at least his SIR unit was safe. And from the three years she spent with Zim and Gir in their cell, all of them as cellmates before she was sent to the Tournament last year, from quiet observation, she knew how much Zim cared for Gir, as a parent would with a little child, or an older sibling would with a beloved little sibling.

The guards lead Zim onto the stage, toward Vinam, who ushered him forward. Zim spotted Tak in the chair in the corner, meeting her sympathetic gaze. He gulped, his heart pounding in his chest as he took a few slow steps toward Vinam, who grabbed a hold of him and firmly lead him to the microphone.

He turned to Zim, smiling. So far, everything was going according to plan, and if this Tournament went well, then he'd no longer have to work as the Warden. No, he could now get clearance from the Tallest themselves to have first priority as the first choice to become an Elite Soldier; what he always dreamed of ever since he was a young smeet. "What is your name, Irken?"

Avoiding Vinam's gaze and the stares of the crow before him, Zim kept his eyes locked on the floor below his feet. "Zim," he replied quietly.

Vinam already knew this. _Part of the plan,_ he reminded himself. "Well, Zim, congratulations! I take it that was your SIR unit you volunteered for?"

"Yes..." Zim responded quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Where had all his luck gone?

Grinning, Vinam turned toward the crowd. "Everyone, let's give Zim here our utmost respect. How about a round of applause?" His closing statement, like every year. And like every year, the audience would give an applause to the chosen one. It was mandatory and policy.

There was only silence.

Confused, Zim lifted his head slightly, just as a fist rose up into the air from an Irken in the crowd. Then another, and another and another, until every Irken and SIR unit in the crowd held up one fist in the air. Suddenly, they broke out into chanting, all in unison; a chorus of triumph. It was a chant in their native Irken tongue. Three words in Irken that meant, _"Victory to us!"_ They chanted this five times until silence broke the barrier, all fists still raised into the air. This was a gesture usually aimed at the Tallest by the Elites and the Invaders and by all the _'regular'_ Irken citizens, because they were all programmed at a time to love and honor the Tallest since birth. But for the defects, the biggest betrayal in their lives was having the leaders they loved and honored calling them _'worthless trash'_. _Defects._ So no longer did the defects of Prison 15 honor their Tallest, but instead they honored and admired Zim, their first volunteer. None of them would be so willing to risk their lives for one another, yet there Zim was, risking his life for his trusted SIR unit. It was admirable to them. They would not honor two leaders who took pleasure in watching them suffer, but they would definitely honor an Irken defect willing to risk his life for someone else. The meaning of the gesture was _Irken pride_, but they, the defects of Prison 15, turned the gesture into meaning _'Defect Pride'._

Zim stared out at the crowd in awe, at every fist raised into the air, for him, he realized. He turned his head to Tak, and noticed she too held her fist up. She smiled lightly at him. He felt a sudden urge of confidence from the crowd, and from Tak. He never felt so... loved before. Admired. It was always his craving when he was an Invader. Now here was the admiration he always wanted, from a crowd of defects like himself.

Vinam however, was scowling. He quickly grabbed Zim and lead him away, off the stage, heading toward the single door on the side of the stage. Tak quickly got up from her chair and followed suit, not wanting a guard to come her way and grab her.

The guards in the courtyard quickly began barking orders at the Irkens in the crowd, yelling at them and ordering them to immediately go back to work.

As Zim was lead to the door, -hearing the orders from the guards toward the crowd to _'get back to work'_-, the sudden realization of his current reality dawned on him:

He wouldn't be joining them for work, like he had thought he would earlier.

* * *

_On the Massive..._

Red's glare seemed to intensify as his eyes stayed locked on the television screen before him, watching the familiar form of Prison 15's first volunteer being lead off stage. He tightened his fists at his sides. He was burning with rage at the scene he just witnessed live.

Purple only watched the screen, bored, but noticed the look on Red's face and couldn't help but say, "I honestly don't know what the big deal is..."

"The big deal is the fact that those... _Defects_ just honored Zim as if he were actually worthy enough to be honored!" Red retorted, throwing his empty soda can at the screen in anger. "You know that's not acceptable!"

Purple only shrugged, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth. "It doesn't matter. He won't make it past the first round anyway."

Red's glare was replaced with a smirk. "I'll make sure of that."

* * *

The door slammed shut.

Zim glanced around at his current surroundings. The red carpet under his feet, and the soft velvet chair, one of two, which he sat on in front of the metallic silver desk before him. His eyes scanned over the rich interior of Vinam's office, taking in every detail, every framed picture on the walls. He hadn't come across such a rich lifestyle in a very long time. No one in Prison 15 had ever been allowed in Vinam's office, except for the guards and Tak. And now Zim, though he had been there before, but for only three minutes. That was last year. He barely had anytime to have even words come out of his mouth. He hadn't known what to say.

Zim leaned back in the chair, taking in the silence. He hadn't been alone in a long time, either. He was usually in plain sight of everyone, with Skoodge on a work day or with Gir in their cell. But he hadn't been completely alone in a room in years. He took comfort in the silence, still trying to wrap his head around everything that had just happened, and tried to picture what would be ahead for him in the next few hours and days.

They had asked him who were his closest companions in the Prison. To have someone to say goodbye too. That was how he ended up in Vinam's office last year; to say goodbye to Tak. She had requested to see him before she left for the Tournament.

Zim had requested for Gir and Skoodge. Those were the only two companions he ever had in Prison 15. Everyone there usually only hung around, if they were once an Invader-their SIR unit, or their cellmates. When they were out of their cells they didn't hang around or talk to anyone except their cellmates. That was how Zim and Tak knew each other. And Zim had known Gir for fifteen years. Skoodge had been Zim's smeethood friend and they both attended the same Academy to become Invaders.

The door re-opened, startling Zim. He stood up quickly, and for the first time in a while, he smiled as the small figure of Gir ran into the room to say goodbye to him. Behind Gir walked in Skoodge, who seemed visibly upset for his friend. "You have three minutes," the guard who opened the door said harshly, before slamming the door shut.

Zim kneeled down, taking Gir into his arms. He felt so relieved to see him, to at least say a proper goodbye before entering what would certainly be an uncertain future for him. He didn't know if he would live through the Tournament or not, or if he'd even make it through the first round.

He felt Gir's tears soak through his shirt, and, knowing they only had a short amount of time, he pulled back. Zim opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, but no words came to mind. Nothing seemed right about this, and there were no real words to discuss. Seeing the tears stream down the little robot's cheeks, Zim pulled Gir close again, back into the comforting embrace.

"I'm sorry..." Zim said quietly, "I'm so sorry..." Those were the only words that felt right, and they escaped him before he could even fully register them, or their meaning. The broken promise, he remembered. "I said you'd be safe from being chosen, and I was wrong. I was wrong, I was wrong..." His voice cracked. Zim seemed to nearly break right there. He blinked back his own tears. The first real taste of hard emotion he felt in his whole life. He never felt so regretful for breaking the promise he made to Gir, never felt so distressed about nearly losing the little robot when his name was called, and never felt so nervous about what was to come for himself in the next few days. If he'd be dead or alive.

"Just try to win," Gir whimpered in response.

Zim's throat tightened. "I will," he promised, the pain in his voice clearly palpable. "You're just going to have to tough it out while I'm gone." Zim pulled away from Gir. "Can you do that for me?"

Despite the tears, Gir nodded.

And despite his pain, Zim smiled, though weakly. "Good." He glanced up at Skoodge, who stood behind Gir. Zim stood up, taking a few steps toward his smeethood friend. "Please take care of Gir for me if I don't come back," he said quietly, making sure Gir wouldn't hear his words and panic far worse than he had before.

Skoodge could see the pain in Zim's eyes, and the tears that he was trying so hard to hold back. He only nodded. "Of course." Skoodge formed a fist and held it out before him.

At the sight, Zim chuckled, despite the tears stinging his eyes. He formed a fist of his own and bumped it against Skoodge's fist. Their trade-mark from their teen years. Zim was still smiling, feeling a bit better, though he felt a tear form and fall down his cheek. He wasn't sure why, but he was going to miss the old life. It was the only life he really had that wasn't built around a fake and programmed outlook on emotions and life, such as the life of an Invader he had sought out for the longest time before being sent to Prison 15.

The door re-opened, and the guard from before walked in. "Times up," he said.

Skoodge only sighed, turning toward Gir. He walked toward the little robot who calmed down a bit, though still had a few remaining tears left. He ushered Gir out of the room.

Gir turned and got once last look at his Master, who only watched him go with a noticeably pained expression. Gir stopped walking for a moment to stare at Zim.

Skoodge noticed this, sighing once more. "Come on, Gir," he said, pushing Gir gently along toward the door.

Sniffling, Gir nodded once. "Bye Master," he said quietly, turning and walking with small, hesitant steps out the door, with Skoodge following close behind.

The door slammed shut once more.

"Bye, Gir..." Zim replied softly, though he was all alone in the room once again. He stood there in silence, staring at the door, hoping Gir would come back, but Zim knew he wouldn't. He wished the guard let them have more time to say goodbye. Three minutes just wasn't enough.

The door opened again, much to Zim's surprise, and once he realized who it was, he rushed forward, toward the figure standing at the door.

Tak was shocked at the sudden embrace Zim engulfed her in nearly a second after she came into Vinam's office. She hadn't seen Zim in a year, and was now his mentor. And now here Zim was, in the position she was in the year before. Nervous, unsure, frightened... Tak had survived, and she would make sure Zim would survive as well.

"I missed you," he said quietly, tightening his hold around her.

Honestly, Tak thought Zim had forgotten about her, or was angry with her for never coming back like she had promised. But she wasn't allowed to come back to Prison 15 after she won the Tournament. Well, the rule was that she wasn't allowed to see the Prisoners, which obviously included Zim. She had missed him, too, especially when she had left for the Tournament and never came back. "I missed you too," she replied, cheeks burning slightly. She pushed the feeling down, reminding herself there were just friends and that their words were nothing more than meaning two friends who missed each other. _Just friends._

After a few minuets, they pulled back. Zim smiled a bit at her. "How is the winner's life treating you?"

She caught the sarcasm in his voice, because she knew that he knew that the lifestyle of the winner of the Tournament was something she was defiantly not fond of. At all. "Wish it were better," she admitted, chuckling. "Especially since I'm surrounded by stuck-up snobs every day. It was never like that here."

"But I'm guessing the food is great, huh?" he joked.

This made her smile widen. "That's the only upside. It's much better than the cold stew."

Zim chuckled. Tak remembered how much Zim hated the cold stew. "I bet it is..." he paused, remembering his current predicament. Seeing Tak and holding her close again caused him to nearly forget everything that had happened at the Choosing Day ceremony. And then joking with her again like before, like when they were cellmates... It was like a dream. But all dreams came to an end at some point, and he found that his was already over, despite the fact his old cellmate and friend was standing before him after a year of being gone.

Now he was at a loss for words again. He blurted out the only thing that came to mind, "Am I going to be okay?"

Tak frowned. _No,_ she thought to herself. _Not when you win._ When you win the Tournament, the winner is constantly locked up in their mind, stuck in an inescapable prison with the faces of the fallen contenders, especially the ones the winner had to fight and kill in order to survive and win. This was a nightly occurrence to Tak. In her darkest nightmares, she saw only blood and horror, the crowds cheering for the killer, and the faces of the four defected Irkens she had to kill in order to stay alive. If Zim won, the same thing would happened to him. The mental torture. The trauma.

"You'll be fine," she lied, smiling reassuringly at him. Because, in reality, she didn't know what would happen to Zim five days from now. Or what would happen in a year, or years from now.

She would just have to wait and see.

* * *

**A/N: I need eleven more Irken or SIR OCs!**

**Anyway, I wanted to update. I don't have much to say. XD**

**The next time I update I will be 17, because my birthday is tomorrow! :D I've been on for FIVE years! Holy CRAP. I will admit: compared to my older writings, I've defiantly grown as a writer JUST a little bit. I guess. XD**

**I dunno... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Please review! :)**


	3. Airborne

_Chapter 3_

They didn't have much time to chat.

After Tak reassured Zim that he would be okay, the same guard from before came into the room, along with two other guards and Vinam himself. Zim was ushered out of the room, with Tak following close behind.

They silently traveled through the seemingly-narrow hallway, out toward the door that lead to the courtyard. The guard from before opened the door, moving to the side so Zim, Tak, Vinam and the two other guards could slip through the door easily. As the five walked out into the courtyard, the door slamming shut behind them, Zim noticed something in the middle of the courtyard that defiantly wasn't there before. Something he hadn't seen in years. Something metallic and huge. Something that made his eyes widen at the sight.

He took hesitant steps in the dirt toward the large Irken Mega-Voot. He had a much smaller version before, many years ago, as an Invader for only a short time. Zim's, however, was just a Voot. The one before him was a Mega-Voot, one that transported important political and military figures to the capitol of Irk. It was designed to hold over a hundred people at a time.

Then why was that here?

The Mega-Voot was created to hold important Irkens, like political and military leaders, who were a second-rank in importance, just a step below the Tallest themselves, who held the highest rank. Defectives, of course, were the lowest forms of Irkens, important-wise. In the eyes of the Tallest, every military and other political figure and Elite soldiers and Invaders, defects weren't even considered living beings. They were seen as tools to be used for hard labor or as a punching bag for an angry guard, because the guards in each Prisons were allowed to use physical force. The mass beatings of Irken defects were common, and so were the secret mass rapes of thousands of defected Irken women and young girls. The Tallest couldn't care less.

Well, ever since the Tournament began, that outlook on defects had slightly changed.

The contenders were usually treated as celebrities once they entered the capitol of Irk. They were paraded around, interviewed, and then betted on like prizes. The highest amount of monies usually was placed on the Irken defect the rest of the 'normal' Irken citizens thought would win. The most betted contender were usually from Prisons 1 and 2, for they were the strongest, well-fed and their Prisons didn't treat them as horribly. They were the least defected Irkens, with only a single glitch in their Paks. And they were the most blood-thirsty, doing whatever it took to win their freedom. Because the prize for winning the Defective Tournament wasn't cash or some expense luxury reward, the prize was the winning Defect's freedom. They could live normally in society. This made the desperation to win even more so.

Really the Tournament was made to satisfy the needs of the gamble-hungry Irken citizens who wanted a new game to play at home, a new way to pass time. Or it was made to satisfy the somewhat sadistic Tallest and their need to shed blood. In reality, no defect knew the exact purpose of the Tournament, but one thing they knew for sure, was that their 'rulers' simply wanted to watch them suffer even more than they already have. True sadists they were; absolutely cruel. Most defects came to that conclusion after only a month of being sent to prison.

Prison 15, like the other fifteen prisons, was surrounded by nothing but desert. Just beyond the electric fences surrounding the outside of Prison 15 (to keep any possible escapees from even attempting to escape) were rolling desert hills, some larger than the other. In the far distance where the Irken sun usually set were a set of mountains. As Zim headed toward the Mega-Voot, he noticed, in the distance from where he stood in the courtyard, the other defects already at work, or taking their usual walk through the rocky terrain to get to one of the many hills to start digging and collecting rock and dirt. The job of each and every Irken defect in each of Irk's 16 defect Prisons was to collect as much pure Irk dirt and rock which contained a certain chemical and substance inside that, if mixed and melted together, created pure Irken lysiam, a special metal that was used to build the magnificent buildings and structures found in each of Irk's many prosperous cities, and which was also used to build many of Irk's battle equipment and spaceships, like the Mega-Voot. Irk needed a never-ending supply of lysiam, for Irkens were always hard at work to create more machines for battle everyday, more buildings for living. More weapons, more luxury.

Some of the workers glanced at the Mega-Voot as they walked past the electric fence toward the abundant-amount of rolling hills surrounding Prison 15, while others ignored it and walked on, not wanting to be distracted and pushed along by the guards that lead them forward toward their daily work place. Like Zim, many Irkens hated the physical force by the guards more than anything. Some rebelled by yelling at them, and that mostly lead to those specific Irkens to be beaten brutally and then executed publicly. So hence why most other Irkens, including Zim, tried their best to follow orders and avoid physical force for fear they too might snap and shout at the guards to not touch them. Whatever it took to keep them alive in such a Hell.

A few steps up a small metal stair case lead into a small, narrow hallway in the Mega-Voot. Just before the staircase was lifted up off the ground, Zim turned around briefly, noticing Vinam no longer behind him. He saw Vinam standing twenty feet away from the Mega-Voot. He was smiling for whatever reason that Zim wasn't sure of yet. And it would be awhile before he found out the exact reason for Vinam's gleaming eyes and wicked grin that was, for now, shrouded in mystery.

Zim turned away and moved forward down the narrow hallway, with Tak following close behind. They came up to a single metal door. It beeped and slid open, with Zim's eyes going wide at the sight before him.

"Oh my Irk..." he breathed out, astonished by the sight before him.

The numerous lines of cushioned chairs, two large viewing windows on each side of what was called the _'Viewing Deck'_ for the groups of important Irkens who usually rode on Mega-Voots to take their seats and get a glimpse from either large window on either side of the Viewing Deck of the breath-taking sights of the pink Irken day sky or of the night where stars could be clearly visible in the distance. To get a gorgeous view of the prosperous, large cities of Irk from above, the Irkens aboard could get up from their seats and stand before either viewing window, and stare down at the sight of the large Irken cities from the skies above. It was much more marvelous of a sight at night, when the cites below were lit up in the darkness by the numerous city lights. In the back of the viewing deck was a table decorated with trays and platters of food; delectable deserts and fattening snacks like chips and donuts. Dinner would be served later in the Dining Hall.

Zim and Tak silently took their sears together in the middle of the empty rows. Four guards came through the hall and guarded both doors; two guarded the one from the staircase to the Viewing Deck in the front, and two others guarded the door in the back that lead to the Dining Hall. The pilot wasted no time to get the ship moving toward it's destination: the Capitol of Irk. The Mega-Voot was immediately airborne in no time.

* * *

Some heavy burden was lifted off Zim as the Mega-Voot continued flying through the air, growing further and further away from Prison 15. Maybe it was because, for the first time in nearly ten years, he was out in the open, off of Prison 15's grounds, and was once again back in the air, in the sky, where he knew he always belonged. Despite being nervous of the uncertainty, of what were to happen in the few days ahead, in the weeks ahead, Zim couldn't help but feel free. He felt so relieved to be airborne after so many years of being grounded, of doing hard labor every day for nearly ten years. Though when he glanced up from his seat and locked eyes with one of the two guards that guarded the door in the front of the Viewing Deck, he was reminded that he was still a prisoner, that he wasn't fully free. That the worst was still to come. Zim averted his gaze and stared down at the floor.

He and Tak sat in silence for the longest time. Amidst the uncertainty and fear, Tak found that she was not good at coming up with small talk in such a dire situation. Though Zim was her good friend, she found that no words could really comfort him, especially not now.

After a while, the silence was to much for Tak to bare, and she desperately wanted to cheer Zim up, even if just a little. Reassure him. "You know you're a lot stronger than the rest of them."

"How would you know?" Zim snapped before he could register the words that escaped him. He realized how cruel his tone was, and quickly sighed, "Sorry... I'm just..."

"...Nervous?"

"Very." Zim glanced over at her. "It's been years since I've fought, Tak. I'm not sure if I even remember how to fight..."

"Nonsense!" Tak responded harshly. She couldn't help her own tone now. "I know you trained hard and well in the Academy. From what you've told me, I mean, but still... I believed you when you told me, and I still believe you now." She paused. "You told me about how well you fought with your hands. You were a hand-to-hand combat fighter. But you also said you were great with weapons like knives. They'll have plenty of knives there for you. You have to use them."

"I have to?" He questioned, "Or what? They'll execute me?" His nervous tone turned into a mocking one. "Make me suffer even more than I already have? Beat me? Whip me? Guess what Tak: you know damn well that I've already suffered enough over the years. They can't do anything more to me. They can't kill me, because I'm going to die soon anyway."

"No, you're not!" Tak argued, her voice raising, "What happened to the arrogant, overly zealous Zim I remember? Who, even in captivity was still confident about himself?"

"People change," Zim mumbled, averting his eyes away from her. "Captivity changes people. The Tournament hasn't changed you, though," he couldn't help but add quietly, "You're still the same Tak I met a few years ago... But in your eyes... There's something missing... And if I do win this thing, I wonder what part of me that I'll lose..."

Tak opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came to mind. She didn't know how to respond or argue his point, that she was fine, to reassure him that he would be fine, but knew deep down that he was right. When she won the Tournament, a part of her went missing. For the longest time her eyes with hollow as the memories of the blood shed, the lives she took haunted her. This would be Zim's fate as well if he won, but she'd rather have him alive and well with a few mental traumas than have to watch him being buried into a dirt hole, his body inside a wooden box. She wouldn't admit it and even tried denying it to herself, but deep down, Tak wouldn't be able to handle it. She'd snap and go insane with grief if he died. "I'm going to help you as much as I can," she answered quietly, and before she could stop herself, her hand reached over and touched his arm. He tensed briefly, but then relaxed, knowing it was just her hand. And he enjoyed the feeling of her hand rubbing his arm in a comforting manner. "I want you to win this. I want you to stay alive."

And Zim only smiled a bit in response, though his eyes still stayed locked on the floor under his feet. "That's exactly what I said to you last year before you left," he said quietly. "I'm surprised you remember." Now he did look back at her, into her eyes. But he said nothing.

For the remainder of the day, they sat there in silence.

* * *

Night fall came ever so slowly, but Zim was relieved when it did come. They ate dinner alone at a long stretch of table in the Dining Hall, making small talk and reminiscing over the past, but other than that they ate in silence. Despite how tempting and delicious the delectable dinner was, -exquisite soups and fine cooked meats from other planets-, Zim and Tak didn't eat much. Tak, -who was now used to the food and having enough to eat-, and Zim, -who for nearly ten years had only eaten stale bread as his daily meal-, found their squeedly-spooches wouldn't accept the food. The nerves that twisted Zim's squeedly-spooch especially caused the nervous Irken to only eat a few bites of each meal before he found he didn't feel hungry anymore.

When dinner was over, Tak silently lead Zim down another hallway ahead of the Dining Hall, where the bed chambers were. Before residing into her room across from his, she gave him a small, quiet _'goodnight'_ before retreating fully into her room. Once she disappeared behind the sliding door of her bed chamber, he gave her a quiet _'goodnight'_ as well before he too retreated to the privacy of his bed chamber.

The door slid closed behind him. The room was twice as big as any of the cells in Prison 15 would ever be. There were plush Irken pink carpets, a few couches in the corner, a large flatscreen on the wall, a large viewing window that, however, was shut with a metal cover, and a large bed with silk blankets and pillows. He was captivated by the sight, and was sure that bed would ease his nerves and help him fall asleep quicker than the cold floor of his cell back at Prison 15 ever did.

This was indeed found to be true when Zim took a seat on the bed, and he felt so comfortable that he fell back on the silk sheets. He hadn't felt this comfortable in years. Beside him on the bed was a remote, which he remembered from his old days as a regular Irken citizen and as an Invader, that not only controlled the TV, but also operated the sliding metal cover over the window of the bed chamber. Curiously he picked the remote up from where he lay, and moved his head over toward the window on the side of the room. He pressed a red button on the top of the remote, and the metal cover immediately began to slide open. Once the cover disappeared, the sight beyond the now viewable window made his eyes widen and his heart flutter with memories. He sat up quickly, and mesmerized by the sight, he got off the bed and took a few steps forward toward the window.

The dark night sky was illuminated by billions of stars in the distance. Zim pressed his hands against the glass, leaning forward to get a better look. His heart suddenly ached more than ever before. The sky, the Universe he loved to explore through, the freedom it offered was just up there, just beyond his reach. For years he was stuck on ground in captivity, and it was like the sky abandoned him.

He realized then, as his eyes slightly welled up, that Irk was never his home. Irk only cared about size and power; Irk had locked him up to die for nearly ten years; Irk was now sending him to his possible demise as a sick form of entertainment. The sky, the Universe, outer space was his home. Home was supposed to offer freedom and comfort, and he never received that on Irk. Back when he was an Invader, when he had his own Voot and would routinely soar through space, nothing offered him more comfort, peace and freedom than the wide open vacuum of space.

Feeling the pain, the homesickness in his heart to much to bare, Zim averted his eyes away from the window. As he walked away from the window toward the bed, he wondered if he'd ever get to experience the comfort and freedom of space ever again.

* * *

**A/N: EDIT EDIT EDIT: I ACTUALLY NEED DO NEED THREE MORE OCS, AND I'D LIKE ONE OF THEM TO BE SIR UNITS!**

**AHEM. Anyway... Sorry this was a little late, but I found the will to finish this chapter, so... Yeah. :) Hope you enjoyed it! Sorry, there's nothing else to say really. XD**

**Please review!**


	4. Memories of a Past Winner

**IMPORTANT NOTE AT THE BOTTOM/END OF CHAPTER: PLEASE READ (AND NO I'M NOT DISCONTINUING THIS STORY.) **

* * *

_Chapter 4_

The following morning started out the same as always for Tak. She had her daily routines; everyone did, but this morning ritual of hers... Only a past winner of the Defective Tournament would understand where this routine started; only if that winner felt prior remorse.

After waking up to the morning sun bursting through the window in her room, she'd sit up in bed and stay in that position for five, sometimes ten minutes. It was worse before; after winning the Defective Tournament, she would sit there for thirty minutes on end, sometimes even more than that, and simply let the silence and the memories take over. Now a year later, she was at least able to shorten the minutes. It was progress, somewhat. A slow, steady progress that would take extra years to heal completely before she could sit up and get out of bed completely without recounting the events.

After sitting there for about five minutes, the covers still draped over her, she pushed herself completely out of bed, letting the covers fall beside her as her bare feet met the floor. She stood there momentarily before moving forward toward the door, almost numbly. The sleep wore off a bit, her stomach growling. Once she made it out the door, -it opening immediately after she stepped in front of it-, the sweet smell of pancakes overflowed through her senses, washing over her. Her stomach growled a bit more as she moved down the narrow hallway. The chefs had a big breakfast being cooked in the kitchen, she realized. But during Tak's ritual, breakfast didn't come first. Even when the hunger twisted her squeedly-spooch painfully, she'd ignore it the best she could. One thing came first; it _had_ to come first. _Always._

Another door opened automatically. Tak stepped into the dining hall, her eyes immediately locking on the flat screen hanging on the large wall across from the dining table. Almost trance-like, she reached for the remote sitting in the middle of the table before seating herself down in a random spot. Her mind went black as her fingers hit buttons on the remote, buttons she memorized by heart so she could turn the TV on in no-time flat. Before she knew it, the TV was on, ready for any command to be made via remote. More buttons were hit, menus appearing and disappearing on screen. This was a pattern. She knew by heart where to go.

And just like that, the familiar wastelands of a foreign alien planet appeared._ Round One_ it read on the top of the screen. This was Round One of the 4th annual Defective Tournament, she remembered, coming back to reality. Memories... Horrible memories... Why did she force herself to re-watch all four rounds of the Tournament she won the year before? Why did she force herself to remember when she wanted to forget?

It was simple, really. Despite a part of her wanting to forget, another, more stubborn part of her wanted to remember every detail. Why? Because despite feeling remorse for killing four other defective irkens that _wanted_ to kill her, she knew deep down she was a survivor. She had survived the unthinkable, and not only won her life, but won her freedom as well. That Tournament would forever haunt her, yes, but it would always be a reminder of her strength: of her determination to live.

Her muscles tensed as she pressed play. She simply froze in place and watched as Round One from last year's Tournament played on screen, letting the memories take her back to that first day...

* * *

_The buzzer went off, blaring loudly as she ran straight for the portal. It only took ten seconds before she burst through the portal and into a barren alien wasteland. Grey skies, brown dirt, dry shrubs of dead plants. The planet seemed familiar, though she couldn't be sure where she had seen this place before. Maybe last year's Tournament? She wasn't sure._

_Her eyes locked with the table sitting right in the middle of the open, dirt-ridden field. Weapons. There was so many weapons: a variety of knives, swords, shields... Though it was possible she'd be there for three days or less, the Tallest didn't provide any other items for survival, like food or matches to light a fire. All the contenders were provided with only weapons and their uniforms. The Tallest only cared about the cat and mouse game between two opponents in each round. They didn't want to be bothered with footage of someone setting up camp or lighting a fire. _

_She went flying forward toward the table without a second thought, without wondering where her first opponent might be. _

_She skidded to a halt right before the table, eyes glancing around wildly, searching for her opponent. Whoever it was, Tak couldn't see him anywhere. There was a three-day deadline: after three days, if neither opponent is dead, the Tallest can allow the Irkens who control the Tournament to unleash any mega-weapon or creature they wanted... to 'spice' things up. Three days were all that was available, and it suddenly worried Tak, the realization dawning on her that her opponent was nowhere to be found. If there was only three days... She'd rather get everything over with now. _

_Her hand reached forward, gripping a large knife that looked identical to a sword in size, only the blade was thinner, a bit lighter than the usual. The blade was perfectly thin enough to make a nice, clean cut. She kept that in mind as she lowered the knife by her side, still gripping the handle. Her palms felt wet and clammy, her breathing rapidly escaping her lungs as she glanced around once more. Nothing but barren wasteland. In the distance she could see large rocks and hills; no forests in sight. Not many places to hide._

_She wanted to grab more weapons, but she didn't think much of it as she ran off in the distance of the rocks and hills. In the Tournaments before, Tak remembered how most components would only grab a single weapon that seemed to suit them best. The blade in her hand had been similar to the sword she used during the short training process before the Tournament officially began... That was only a day ago; training had been for three days, eight hours each day. Yesterday was the final day of training._

_But Tak already knew how to fight from her past training in the Irken Academy, when she had been on track to become an Elite soldier, maybe even an Invader. Alas, neither happened: just a week before her final exam she was taken; sent to Prison 15 as a defect. So close, yet so far..._

_As she ran toward the distant hills, she laughed bitterly. Now look at where her luck got her: Fighting for her life on live TV. For Irk's entertainment. By now the betting tables were surely opened. She could only guess how many Irkens were betting on her, if any were at all. _

_What happened next wasn't like your average suspense movie. There was no one watching Tak, following closely behind in the shadows. No... The only ones watching her were the millions of 'normal' Irkens who were at home, watching the live broadcast. Only they could see what she couldn't see: a pair of nimble feet running noiselessly toward Tak; gliding over the dirt effortlessly. She barely had a chance to turn her head when the figure, her opponent, pounced on her._

_She was slightly dazed when she hit the ground. The air had been knocked right out of her from the rough impact. Tak erupted in a coughing fit, realizing what had happened and who's face it had been that suddenly appeared. The knife was still locked in her hand, she realized, but barely had time to glance over her shoulder and prepare an attack before the knife was kicked out of her hand, flying a few feet away where it came to a halt. She felt the weight of someone's knee digging into her lower back and quickly, instinctively reacted._

_Tak swung her fist at her opponent, -a defect from Prison 16 named Vandul-, hitting it's mark. Vandul was caught off guard and, startled by the weight of his opponent's fist slamming into his eye, stumbled back. Tak took the opportunity to scramble forward toward her knife, like a frantic crab in the sand. She was barely inches away from the knife, just a finger's length in reach, when he grabbed her leg, dragging her away from her only weapon. _

_"I like my girls with purple eyes," he chuckled menacingly, dragging her back to a certain spot in the ground so he could straddle her if necessary._

_She mentally slapped herself for only grabbing a single weapon when there were so many other options. And now her ignorance would surely lead to her demise. _

_'No... I still have my fists,' she realized, suddenly overcome with an odd sense of bravado and courage. All that prior fear, anxiety, discourage and doubt faded away, replaced with a stamina she never felt before, not even during her Academy days. She quickly struck his squeedly-spooch with her leg, sending him flying back into the dirt. She stood up, taking notice of the array of knives attached to the sides of his Tournament uniform. He was well-armed yet went into the fight unprepared. She fought back a smirk as she jumped on him, sending her fists into him, in any and every place on his body possible. Blood went flying as teeth were shattered, ribs cracked and coughs wheezed out of his lungs as she continued her violent attack. _

_And he laughed, his dark blue eyes cold and empty; void of any emotion. Despite the broken ribs and shattered teeth, Vandul was laughing, as though he were enjoying the pain. _

_Panting heavily, Tak stopped her attack, lowering her fists as she watched him laugh. 'A masochist,' she realized, 'and a big one at that.'_

_"Big mistake," he said breathlessly, after calming down from his laughing fit. _

_Tak barely had time to register his words. She felt something sharp strike her face, feeling it tear through her skin. She cried out in shock, falling back against the ground. Already she could feel the warm liquid running down the side of her face. Vandul's claws had made three long gashes across the left side of Tak's face, drawing a cascade of green blood flowing from the fresh wounds. _

_He was quick and agile in his movements as he quickly pinned her down, turning her over on her stomach. He straddled her, grinning wickedly. "Now I'll really give 'em a show."_

_For a second, -as the pain slightly subsided and her breathing slowed to a normal pace-, Tak didn't understand what her opponent meant, until she remembered his previous words: 'I like my girls with purple eyes.' _

_Sadism and dominance... Two qualities that were quite evident in Vandul's dark blue eyes. Tak felt her bones shudder, her muscles tensing in fear. 'Oh Irk,' she thought in a panic, 'he's going to..' _

_She didn't dare finish her thought. Before Vandul even had a chance to reach for the zipper of her Tournament uniform, Tak made a move to elbow him, but he caught her arm, twisting it around in it's socket. She cried out in pain as he forced her on her back, pinning her down. He reached for the sharpest knife in the collection strapped to his sides. _

_His hand shot out, and immediately she felt the cold blade pressing against her throat. It was pressed deeply enough to where one quick, effortless movement could slice the skin right open. She made no attempt to move. Unlike Vandul, Tak thought her plan of action through before going along with it completely. As she glared up at her opponent, different plans were frantically racing through her mind._

_"I remember your interview," he hissed, that sick grin never leaving his face. "You looked real good in that dress... Maybe you'll wear that dress again when they bury you in the ground."_

_A plan came to mind and stuck there. He wasn't that heavy, she realized. His body weight pinning her down wasn't overbearing. He was light, almost as though he was barely there on top. "Not today," she hissed back, and was jolted into action. She wrapped her legs around his thin frame, throwing him off. The knife left the skin of her neck as she leaped at him, her hand connecting around the handle of the blade in his hand. Her movements were so quick that Vandul barely had time to fight for the knife that was snatched from his hand._

_Now Tak pinned him down, bringing the knife, his knife, to his throat. Instead of wasting time to address any last words to her opponent, she made a quick, swift movement with the blade. The green skin of Vandul's neck opened up in a matter of seconds, drawing much more blood than the gashes on Tak's face had. She panted heavily, a bit exhausted from the fight as she watched Vandul gag and choke, the blood leaking out of the deep wound. He was staring at her with wide eyes. There was no fear behind the dark blue eyes; only an empty, almost satisfied glint. Was he enjoying the pain? The feeling of warm blood running down his neck? Tak couldn't tell, but didn't think much of it as she watched the life drain from his body._

_It only took a minute before he went still, lying limp in the dirt floor. His eyes were lifeless now, though the dark blue orbs were still locked on Tak's purple eyes. She stared at him for a moment, the memory so fresh that she was nearly overcome with a variety of emotions. Guilt, anger, sadness... She turned away, letting her thoughts wander as she stood up, waiting for the announcement that Round One was over, that she had won. _

_The announcement came, loud and booming over the barren wasteland, but Tak couldn't hear the exact words. For now, she wouldn't focus on the life she had just taken. She had survived the first Round, and even her first opponent was ruthless and menacing. Vandul had wanted to cause her pain. Thinking that over made her a bit more prepared to take three more lives. Three more lives in order to keep her own life. In order to win._

_As the portal appeared to take her back to Irk's capital, Tak could only hope that her next three opponents were as violent and insane as Vandul. That way, it'd be easier to kill them and save herself without the guilt._

_But even then, there was a hint of guilt that lingered..._

* * *

That was her first time ever actually _killing_ someone. She paused the video at the end, where the camera was locked overhead on the two figures; Vandul, lying in a pool of blood in the dirt, and Tak standing over him, not looking directly at the body, but at the sky. The Academy trained irkens to fight and conquer, not actually_ kill_ people. But she had done it knowing that her opponent was bloodthirsty and insane. That in itself explained why Vandul was from Prison 16, where the most defected irkens resided. It made it easier for Tak to kill Vandul from just knowing that he was sadistic and wanted to watch her bleed.

But there was still guilt. She couldn't help it, knowing that Vandul too had been fighting for his life, for his freedom. He might have been cruel and murderous, but he was still a living being that was killed because the Tallest ordered this entire Tournament to be required every year by law. This was the Tallest' fault for putting this entire event together. But it wasn't the Tallest who put the knife to Vandul's throat. Tak was the one who made that clean cut on his neck. The Tallest just watched and cheered while stuffing their fat faces with junk food...

Her hand tightened over the remote; clenching it, squeezing it. Now her close friend was being sent to face the same fear, guilt and torment she had faced a year before. She wasn't frightened at all for Zim's life, -she knew he had a chance of winning-, but for his peace of mind. Guilt associated with killing, even when _forced_ to kill had many possible affects on one's mind. And Tak could only wonder which affect it would have on Zim's mind.

The possibilities were endless and overwhelming. So overwhelming in fact that she didn't notice the new presence that had entered the dining hall secretly from behind, until she heard _his_ voice, "You did what you had to do."

* * *

**A/N: Vandul belongs to Devil's Writer. :)**

**OMG I UPDATED. *is shot* I had seriously bad writer's block with HOW to start chapter 4, so I apologize greatly for the long wait! **

**Anyway, there is many of you who reviewed with OC info AFTER I said that the OC submissions for this story were closed. So the OCs I have down to compete in the Tournament Zim's competing in (WHO HAVE A PRISON CHOSEN) are:**

**Hans - Prison 1**

**Kip - Prison 2**

**The OCs who I have not chosen a Prison for yet (BUT WILL SOON) are:**

**Zis**

**Quin**

**Nyx**

**Rin**

**Fang**

**Drone**

**Sheeta**

**Malik**

**Lun**

**Cor**

**Min**

**Ket**

**Tianna**

**These are the 15 OCs chosen to compete in the 5th Annual Defective Tournament. Vandul was submitted after the 15 OCs were chosen, so I picked him to be Tak's first opponent from the 4th Annual Defective Tournament. **

**So please, no more OC submissions! For the people who submitted OCs after I closed the OC submissions, I'll try to find a spot for your character, maybe as Tak's three other opponents or as some other flashback of past competitors. I'm really sorry. :( But I will try to put your character somewhere else since there's no more room in the actual Tournament.**

**Oh, and btw, the defects competing in the Tournament all wear the same uniform- a black one-piece suit with the number of their Prison printed on the back. **

**And also: the ending will obviously be nothing like The Hunger Games, and here's why - there's an underlying plot behind the actual reasoning as to why the things that have happened and will soon happen to Zim. There is a bigger spectrum as to why, completely opposite of the Hunger Games. There's a small hint of it back in chapter 2, but you have to re-read it to find it. ;) It's so small I don't know if anyone will find it, but still.**

**Anyway, please review, and I'm really sorry for the long update!**


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